by Ally Gray
“Hey, I go wherever she goes,” the manager called out, but the photographer’s assistant had ominously reappeared on the scene and stood dangerously close. Stacy took the bride by the elbow and looked the manager up and down scathingly.
“I’m sure that’s usually true, but not today.” She led the bride and two of the bridesmaids into the office and defiantly slid the ornate wooden double doors shut on their track, the clacking sound of their coming together and locking out the other members of Stephanie’s troupe the most satisfying noise Stacy had heard in a week.
“Miss Bindle, what I will show you has only been seen in its entirety by two people so far, and I’m one of them. I am pleased to finally show you the details of your special day,” she began, thumbing through the specially prepared binder of oversized pages to show the actress all of the features of what would be the most talked about wedding for a long time come.
Stacy and Tori sat formally poised on the edge of an antique upholstered chaise and waited for the bride to say something. Instead, she flipped through the book before closing it and opening the top cover again, looking over each page once more in exacting, scrutinizing detail. A few times Stacy thought she saw the bride’s mouth turn up ever so slightly at the corners, a dreamy look in her eyes as if to say “what if?” before it was replaced with her usual aloof scowl.
“Well?” Stacy asked after more than twenty minutes had passed and her stretched-thin nerves couldn’t take the silence any longer. “Does it all meet with your approval?”
Stephanie stood up and pulled her dark glasses off the top of her head, replacing them low on the bridge of her nose as she picked up her stylish Chloé clutch purse and strode over to the sliding doors. She flung them open and was met with the remainder of her entourage. She turned around to look directly at Stacy and said simply, “Whatever.”
And then the group was gone, leaving only the echoes of clattering Christian Louboutins and the last vapors of a cloud of Chanel in their wake. Stacy would have liked to have slumped against the doorframe, but was propped up only by the memory of a woman who had done this job far better than she ever could, and for far longer.
“I don’t have any kind of scientific data to go on here, but that has got to be the creepiest reaction ever to seeing the plan book,” Tori said quietly in Stacy’s ear. “Did you catch that look on her face when she got to the reception page? It was freaky.”
“I didn’t see it, what do you mean?”
“You know, the page with the presentation of the new couple and the spotlight dance. She looked as if she was seeing right through the book instead of looking at it. It was really eerie. And what was with her answer? ‘Whatever.’ What is that supposed to mean?”
Stacy shook her head. Even she had to admit it was a really odd reaction, nothing like the typical blushing bride who sauntered through the doors of Events By Design, even if they weren’t in their usual offices.
“I’m not sure, but I can tell you this… something isn’t right here.”
Chapter 5
A loud commotion in the entryway to the mansion pulled Stacy out of her few stolen moments of afternoon meditation, a survival skill she’d developed even when Abigail had been alive. Overbearing brides and their equally evil mothers had taught her the power and value of sitting with her eyes closed for exactly 180 seconds, reminding herself with positive thoughts as to why she was in this business. The arguing outside her closed temporary office door was enough to shatter any illusion that this was the right line of work.
“I said, MOVE. If you’re not going to let me in, I will have you arrested before letting myself in. Got it, honey?”
“And I said, you don’t have the right to barge in here, and watch who you’re calling honey!” Jeremiah’s voice declared, several notches in volume over what must have been a police officer’s. Stacy jumped from her desk and raced to throw open the door. The last thing she needed right now was to lose the florist to a charge for assaulting a police officer. He couldn’t very well make ninety centerpieces from a cell at the county jail.
“May I help you?” she boomed in a practiced voice, channeling the former grand dame of society weddings herself. Jeremiah and the tall police officer—a detective, Stacy guessed, judging from his suit instead of blue uniform—both turned and withered slightly. The officer cleared his throat and adjusted his tie as if Jeremiah had manhandled him.
I’d pay to watch that scuffle, Stacy thought before shaking off the visual. Although my money’s on the florist and not the detective. He doesn’t know how Jeremiah gets when someone barges in on the de-pollination of his calla lilies.
“Are you Stacy East? Abigail’s assistant?” the detective demanded. Stacy bristled on the inside, both for the callous way he threw around Abigail’s name—that’s Ms. Prudell to you, sir, she thought sourly—and over her former title. She hadn’t been anybody’s assistant since her beloved boss had passed away years ago. She had to grit her teeth behind a rehearsed smile at the mention of it.
“Yes, I am. And may I have the pleasure of knowing who is interrupting our work so that I can be sure to mention him by name when I give my thanks to the local police commissioner?” she demanded, leveling her eyes at him evenly.
“Um… Yeah, I’m Rod. I mean, Detective Sims. Roderick Sims. I have a few questions for you about the deceased?”
“I see,” Stacy said with a prim nod, indicating to the others they could leave. She’d pay for that little move later, but its effect was not lost on Rod-I-Mean-Detective-Sims. Assistant or not, he was now dealing with the boss. “Yes, if you’ll walk this way, I’ll be happy to help you in any way I can, so long as it doesn’t take up more than twenty-three minutes of my time.”
“Twenty-three? You got a thing against nice round numbers, lady?”
“Twenty-three was my way of being generous. It’s eighteen more minutes than I have to spare, quite frankly, but I’m not in the habit of ignoring our local law enforcement officers.” She turned and walked into her office without waiting to see if he followed. She heard scurrying footsteps behind her that indicated he finally decided to follow.
“So Stacy, is it?” he began, but was quickly snapped to attention by the stern note of warning in her tone.
“It’s Anastasia, actually, but you may call me Miss East,” she answered, reverting to the name Abigail had insisted she begin using when she was first hired. They regarded each other for only a few seconds before Rod continued.
“And you guys are putting on this shindig, huh? I don’t envy you, not one bit.” He threw himself into a chair across from Stacy’s desk and made himself comfortable. Stacy remained standing, looking down her nose at the detective.
“You gonna stand for the whole twenty-three minutes?” he asked as he rifled through his pockets for his notebook.
“I never indicated that you would receive the entire twenty-three minutes allotted to you, and from what I’ve seen so far, you won’t need all of them. I thought it a waste of time, energy, and calories to bother sitting down. I would just have to stand up again.”
“Wow, you’re kind of cold for a wedding planner. Aren’t you guys supposed to be all joyous and lovey dovey about this kind of thing? You act like you’re planning someone’s funeral,” he said, opening to a fresh sheet in the undersized book and scribbling the date and time at the top of the page.
“First, I am not a ‘wedding planner,’ I’m the assistant to the most sought after event organizer in the northern hemisphere. We aren’t aware of who handles the coronations in the southern hemisphere, so I can’t speak to her title below the equator. Second, I’m incredibly busy, as you can well imagine, and I’ve yet to hear anything about why you’ve taken up my time today.”
“Okay, so you want to get down to business… why’d you kill the groomsman?” he asked, looking up at her and meeting her gaze. There wasn’t a hint of a smile behind his question, although he had to be joking. Stacy fought hard not to take the bait. She wait
ed without answering, no emotion exception boredom registering on her face. “Yeah, I didn’t think this case was gonna be that easy. Let’s start at the beginning, just tell me everything you remember about that night.”
Stacy finally lowered herself into her desk chair and relayed exactly what she remembered about finding the poor groomsman and rap artist T-Spot—so many seemed to have an initial and a random word instead of a given name—face down in a pool of his own blood on the parlor floor, the exact place where Chef Pierre’s creations were to be staged. The thought of people eating over the pool of blood made her want to gag.
“And that’s all I remember. We entered the premises to begin work, and there he lay. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”
“Yeah, me too. I guess I’d better talk to this Abigail lady next. Where can I find her?”
The blood in Stacy’s veins stopped moving for a split second as her brain surely released ice water into her system, judging from the chilling sensation that ran down her spine. She kept her face a mask of pure disinterest while she called up the rehearsed speech.
“Ms. Prudell is not available. She no longer travels to off site events, and is instead enjoying a more behind-the-scenes aspect to overseeing these occasions. She did not travel with the company to this wedding, and therefore didn’t have any interaction with the deceased.” She spoke without flinching, knowing that her carefully crafted answer, practiced time and time again with those members of the staff who even knew about Abigail, wasn’t an actual lie. But still, she felt like she was perjuring herself to a law enforcement officer, and maintaining her composure was about as easy as keeping her already piled-high mountain of plates spinning all at once.
“So you’re telling me I can’t talk to her,” he said, looking up from his notebook and issuing a challenge with his fierce dark eyes.
“I’m telling you that you can try to contact her, but I assure you that you not only will not succeed, but should you have succeeded you won’t learn anything. Ms. Prudell did not come to town for this event.” They stared each other down while both decided whether the other one was bluffing. Finally, it was Rod who flipped his notebook shut and stood up.
“Great. One less person I gotta talk to about a dead guy. Look at that, I only took up twenty-one minutes,” he said, smirking as he looked back at Stacy from the door way. “Which means I’ve got two minutes for another question… why didn’t you ask me how the guy died?”
Stacy looked towards Rod, irritated with herself for not having stood when he did as she now found herself looking up at him. The effect was exactly what he’d wanted, and she’d let herself fall right into it. She stood anyway and smoothed out the fabric of her gray pencil skirt.
“Because as it turns out, Detective, I am neither a doctor nor a detective and therefore that’s none of my concern. My responsibilities entail completing the preparations for this wedding and making sure the symmetry of the wedding is still in balance with an absent groomsman. I’m now focused on the resulting need to find another male human being with a pulse and who still has all of his hair and teeth to stand in this man’s place. I see you’ve somehow managed to avoid destroying your orthodontia over the years, are you busy this Saturday evening by any chance?”
Detective Sims was startled by the coldness of her reply but quickly recovered, securing his look of disdainful, detached indifference. “You do realize this place in now a crime scene and you won’t be having any parties in here anytime soon, right? If I were you, I’d worry less about ‘symmetry and balance’ and worry more about getting on the phone and seeing if the local dinner buffet will let you have this wedding in their banquet room.”
Stacy didn’t answer in order to avoid saying something regrettable. The detective simply grinned before turning on his heel and leaving, calling out over his shoulder that he wasn’t done here. Only after the front door slammed in the distance did Stacy let herself have the luxury of one more three-minute meditation break, this time to squelch the deafening pounding sound of her own heartbeat.
Chapter 6
“What the hell was that about?” Max Faulk demanded as he passed the detective in the hallway leading to the office. “Stacy, who was that guy?”
“Hi Max, sorry you had to see that. Come on in,” she said, pointing to the very chair the angry detective had just vacated. “He’s investigating the death of the groomsman, and I’m afraid I might have pissed him off to the point that he brings a whole crime scene unit in here, just to irritate me. He’s already threatened to have this venue shut down until long after the wedding!”
“Yeah, you probably want to go make nice with the guy, he looks like the type who would stick it to you just to prove he can. And I should know, that’s completely something I would do! Anyway, doll face, I’ve got all the lighting and electricity set up, the reflectors are in place, the false hedges are also in place to try to block the paparazzi, and my security detail plus Pierre’s and Jeremiah’s should have everything under control. That’s not to mention the muscle guys that the movie studio and the record label should be sending in.”
“Ugh, I forgot about them. Have I mentioned that I hate celebrity weddings?” she asked through the echo of her hands pressed over her mouth.
“Yeah, me too, but this is the kind of wedding that makes our year. I don’t have to take so much as a driver’s license photo for the rest of the year for what they’re paying me.” Stacy blanched. He couldn’t possibly mean he was backing out on the rest of the year’s events, could he? It was only May! He must have noticed her look of panic because he laughed as he continued. “No, don’t worry, I’m not leaving you hanging. It’s just nice to know that I could take off for somewhere tropical if I felt like it!”
“Don’t do that to me, Max. You know how much I hate working with anyone but you. I swear, you’re the only professional in this business. Photographers, I mean.”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t go trying to butter me up, I’m not leaving you!” he said with a confident grin. “I’m just waiting for the day you figure out what kind of professional YOU are. You know, this wedding could be the thing that launches you into the limelight, for real this time.”
“Are you kidding? We’ve already killed a member of the wedding party and the bride could apparently not care less about any of it! The last thing I want is to have my name all over this thing!”
“Better watch out talking like that, otherwise that cop will come storming back in here saying you confessed.”
“Far from it. I wish I knew what happened so I could get this guy off our backs. Even without his interruptions, we still have a wedding to put on!” Stacy shooed Max out of her office and got back to work, finalizing all of the checklists before that afternoon’s meeting.
When the buzzer on her desk sounded to remind her of that meeting, she almost jumped out of her skin. She’d been lost in the planning and arranging, and no small part of her attention had been devoted to thinking about the dead guy and the cop. Of course, images of a morose, disinterested bride kept dancing on the edges of her consciousness until she couldn’t help but think there was something she was missing.
“Sassy…” Stacy said into the desk phone before remembering the ugly scene and her immediate removal. “No! It’s just days before this wedding and I don’t have an assistant!”
She jumped up and ran from her office, nearly slamming into a wall of people all racing about their tasks just outside her doorway. She carefully maneuvered between the people carrying various items until she found herself standing outside, looking in. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the detective milling around, grabbing this person or that and asking random questions.
“Can I help you, Detective?” she asked, striding over to Rod and planting herself in front of him. “I thought you had all you needed from me and my staff earlier?”
“Your staff? Don’t you mean, Abigail’s staff?” he asked sarcastically, flashing his smartphone in her direction where an obi
tuary for the sweet old woman was called up on the tiny screen. Stacy blanched, then grabbed the officer by the arm and led him around the side of the building.
“What are you doing with that?” she demanded, half shoving, half reaching for the phone. Rod held it out of her arm’s reach over his head, looking for all the world like a pesky playground bully who’d taken her jump rope and wouldn’t give it back.
“So it is true! I just thought maybe I had the wrong woman. Prudell? What happened to her real name?” he demanded. “Just what kind of con game are you guys pulling?”
“It’s not a con game!” Stacy insisted through clenched teeth. She looked around to make sure no one was watching them. “Ms. Prudell passed away and left the business to her nephew, who—as I’m sure you can imagine—wanted nothing to do with the event planning business. He kept us all on, but who would ever want to hire us if they knew the original genius behind this entire industry is no longer running the show? So we just… don’t bring it up.”
“Oh, and telling me that she was unavailable? That’s not part of the game?”
“Do you see her around here anywhere?” Stacy shot back angrily. “No, I didn’t think so. She is unavailable, she’s six feet under! That’s pretty freakin’ unavailable in my book!”
“So you stretched the truth. Doesn’t the company’s reputation already speak for itself?”
“Not in these parts, it doesn’t, and certainly not everywhere else. And in this business, you’re only as good as your last wedding or event, everyone knows that,” she replied defiantly, as though every industry worked this way. “If anyone ever finds out…”
“Well, I can’t swear no one will find out, but I can do my best to keep it under wraps. Anything that’s public record is out of my control, though. Why don’t you tell me what you know and we can get this handled as quickly as possible? Then the cops can get out of your hair and out of this wedding.”
